“That is very true,” said Susan.

“Mma Ramotswe often says things that are true,” said Mma Makutsi. “She is a very truthful lady, you see.” And then she added, “That is well known.”

“That is why I came here,” said Susan quietly. “For the truth.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MR. POLOPETSI’S GREAT IDEA

THEIR CONVERSATION WITH SUSAN lasted until shortly after twelve. At that point, with instructions taken and having agreed to see her again in two days’ time, Mma Ramotswe left Mma Makutsi in charge of the office. She was to meet Mma Potokwane for lunch, out at the Orphan Farm—an engagement that the two of them had every few weeks. The meeting always took the same form, with the two of them visiting one of the housemothers to have lunch with the children, and, after that, sharing a cup of tea in Mma Potokwane’s office. That involved an exchange of information; Mma Potokwane was always keen to hear of the latest cases—always anonymised, of course, to preserve the client’s confidence. She also liked to hear the latest observations from Mma Makutsi and news of Fanwell, of Charlie, and of the garage. In return she brought Mma Ramotswe up to date on orphanage affairs, on the activities of the Tlokweng council, and on the bulletins Mma Potokwane received from her extensive network of friends and relatives throughout Botswana. Had anybody ever compared Mma Potokwane’s briefings of Mma Ramotswe with those that the government of Botswana received from its intelligence services, there may have been little to distinguish the two in terms of reach, complexity, and accuracy.

“So, Mma Ramotswe,” Mma Potokwane announced as her friend knocked on her office door. “I have been sitting here thinking When will my good friend Mma Ramotswe arrive for lunch? and even as I think that, I hear your knock on the door.”

“And I have been thinking, What good things will my friend Mma Potokwane have arranged for us to have for lunch?”

“I’ve spoken to one of the housemothers,” said Mma Potokwane. “She will be cooking goat. And there will be plenty.”

They left the office and made their way to one of the cottages behind the main buildings. Each of these cottages, neat red-roofed buildings, was home to eight children looked after by a housemother. She cooked for the children, ironed their clothes, bathed them, dealt with their nightmares, wiped away tears, and made up, as far as was humanly possible, for the loss that each of the children had suffered.